Leaving India Already?

Umaid Bhawan Palace

Houses in Mumbai ^

'2 weeks? Is that all?' Every time I told someone in India, especially Americans who have been there for a few years, they can hardly believe I went halfway around the world to visit India and only spend 2 weeks and now I can see why. I want to stay until I get sick of Indian food. I want the driving style to not seem so unbelievably absurd. I want to be able to speak Hindi, or at least say a few words and get my h's and t's and d's to sound right. I want to understand how such extremes can coexist in the same time and place and how so many people can have so little yet seem to be so content. We talked to rikshaw drivers who have been living in Mumbai for years, driving all day and sleeping in their rikshaws at night, making a few dollars a day and sending most of it to their families back home, somewhere far away. I haven't written much about the darker, underside of India, the slums, the poverty, people with no legs, crawling around on the street, between cars in traffic, begging for a few Rupees, the endless shacks made of sticks and tin and a plastic tarp for a roof, the beggars who cling to you until some upper class Indian yells at them to get lost. I haven't showed pictures of this either. I've taken some, but it's hard to take them and it's hard to write about. But it's something that compels me to comprehend it, because despite it all, there's an attitude in India that somehow enables people to transcend these things and take things in stride and not be all angry. As an American, I see India and think about our problems in the West and I feel like, for the first time in a long time, I'm starting to get some actual perspective, and more wouldn't hurt. I have to suspect lots of people like me fly in, look around, eat well, stay in decent places and when we're tired of the chaos, the construction, the noise and the dirt, we just get on a plane and take off and go back to where we came from. We can turn it off as if it was all on TV. After all these years of hearing and thinking about it, I thought I could go and check out India for a couple of weeks, and finally see what it was all about. The problem is that I've just started this show and I'm not ready to turn it off yet. 2 weeks is like pilot and a lot of good episodes are yet to come.

I was sitting on the plane just before takeoff remembering my first impression of India. It started several thousand feet above Mumbai not long before we landed. It was the smell. A deep earthen smell. Not the dirt smell you get from camping, or the bad smell of socks you wore for 3 days, but an old smell that you can't comprehend and need to smell again, a sort of mysterious smell that evokes feelings and memories, like the smell of truffles or the smell of an old room of old furniture that suddenly reminds you of a summer cottage that you stayed in as a kid. Anyway, I'm sitting on the plane as it's boarding, realizing that I can still smell India, which is kind of a surprising thing because your senses usually become desensitized with any constant stimulus like a smell, and after while, smells stop smelling and become part of the background. And here it is after 2 weeks and I can still smell India, perhaps because it's so complex that you don't desensitize so easily. And it's not a bad smell or a strong one. It's more of an aroma than a stench. There were certainly enough smelly things around--garbage clogging waterways and open gutters (garbage cans don't seem to exist here), food being cooked at roadside stands where ever you go, cows and dogs roaming the streets, endless digging and construction with piles of dirt, mud and water, temples and ashrams and hotels with incense and flowers all around, rikshaws and motorbikes choking the street with dust and exhaust. So I'm sitting there contemplating the smell of India when this guy walks around the plane spraying some kind of aerosol bomb and I realize that he's sanitizing the air, getting rid of the smell of India right before take off, and I'm kind of annoyed and insulted. I'm annoyed because the aerosol smell seems like some kind of artificial new plane smell and it completely obliterates the smell of India, instantly, and I can't help but think of this as a metaphor for the Western world's way of dealing with things that aren't not going it's way. I'm leaving a place where the smells weren't blotted out by chemicals and it was like the curtains were pulled back and life was revealed in full color at it's best and worst and you could walk by and try not to look, but it was right there and you had to take notice. And it makes you think about who you are and what you do and what you want and why. And that's a good thing to think about now and then. No question... I'll have to come back for more.

Paanwalla

For a last-night-in-Mumbai treat, we visited the paanwalla and had a sweet paan (which I can only describe as red goo on a leaf with some crunchy toppings... and oh so sweet and fragrant) to leave Mumbai in good spirits and honor the Bamboo King, who has traveled through these parts in years past and is traveling vicariously with me now, especially as I write this. I also included this Mumbai bamboowalla that we walked by today, as an extra bit, just for Chris.

CamelBak

Peter doesn't look to sure about this little jaunt we're about to take... and the dude on the right is even more suspicious and probably hoping for some free entertainment from couple of hapless Westerners.

Musical Family

The kids in the extended Sultan Khan family (everyone seems to be a brother or cousin or uncle or something) start hearing Indian classical music before they're born and by the time they can handle an instrument, the complex rhythms and melodies have already permeated their being. Sitar and sarangi are the main instruments of this family, although everyone can play some tabla. Watching and listening to them play as we sit around the house during the day and into the evening, you can tell that they are already well on their way to becoming excellent musicians at a very young age. One of the great things about the Indian music culture is that it is taught by example, by listening, by call and response. There is no written music involved and improvisation an essential element, so listening is everything. There is very little discussion or telling how... the elders just play and the kids follow. Younger kids, like Sharuk here, who might have a tendency to show off and play too fast, aren't reprimanded or told to slow down or do anything in particular, as the elders are content to let the music bug infect them and run it's course.

School Rikshaw

No school busses here in Jodhpur... but there are school rikshaws. This one just let 2 or 3 kids off and still had at least 9 or 10 more to get home!

Peter Plays Jodhpur!

We had the privilege of seeing our hosts Imran Khan and his father Niyaz Khan (brother of Sultan Khan, who everyone respectfully refers to here as Khanshaab) perform on dueling sitars at a fairground in Jodhpur one evening. Peter was asked to join the concert here on tabla for a bit, too!

Pappilon

We're halfway through a late morning breakfast at Pappilon, one of Peter's favorite restaurants in the heart of Juhu, the area of Mumbai where we're staying. On the table, there's some wonderful iddly in yogurt, uttipam (an onion pancake) and a masala dosa (a big pancake like bread filled with spicy potatoes). Yum!

Taj

When we were down in the old part of Mumbai last week, we went by the famous old Taj Mahal Hotel, which is now become even more recognized after the 26/11 attacks on Mumbai, when terrorists took and killed hostages and set the hotel on fire. It's an ongoing topic in the news here, having caused a major drop in tourism. Its hard to tell, since its my first time here, and I've seen very few foreigners, especially in Rajasthan (which might be expected), but Peter says that he senses fewer foreigners in Mumbai than in past years.

Chaatwalla

A chaiwalla brings tea. The vegwalla brings vegetables. And there are wallas for toys, kitchenwares, tomorrow, yesterday, the one above (the uberwalla!) You name it, the walla brings it or makes it. They walk through the neighborhoods and the trains, usually chanting their offerings so it sounds like some kind of exotic baseball game is always going on. This chaatwalla comes around every day with a cart full of nuts and sweets and things. Hard to resist, especially when many of the items are only a few rupees. I wish these guys came around my house in California!

Hindi

I'm learning a few words of Hindi here and there, especially the ones I hear over and over. 'Bas' means enough, as in 'stop this rikshaw ride now' or 'no more chai, thanks'. 'Sidha' means go straight, useful when rikshaw drivers make spontaneous turns, which they seem to do often (I'm not sure if they're trying to get a little more meter time from hapless foreigners or just going with the flow of the traffic.) 'Achhaa' is heard constantly, meaning 'OK', 'yes', 'I see' and probably a dozen other similar things. 'Bahut achhaa' means very good as in 'very good sitar playing' or 'very good biriani'. And of course, lots of English is mixed in, like 'left' and 'right', for constant rikshaw directions (assuming that you know where you're going... I never do, and neither do the rikshaw drivers half the time. Fortunately Peter usually does.) Of course any technical or modern words are in English, too, so I'm often fooled that I'm hearing actual English when it's really Hin-glish.

Peter's Hindi is pretty good (thankfully... I'd really be lost here without him and would pay a heavy tax for being a clueless foreigner) and people are often amazed that he speaks their language, occasionally causing rikshaw drivers to turn around to talk while they're driving. And you should see the astonishment if he throws in a few words of a local dialect... a crowd gathers in seconds. And if he understands a joke that they're telling and starts laughing, there's a look of utter shock.

The Kids Are Alright

We're guests at the home of Peter's teacher Ustad Sultan Khan in Jodhpur where kids are around all the time, hanging out or playing music a good part of the day. They never seem bored even when sitting around for long periods. They regularly drop in to see what we're doing. They like to hang around while we eat, and not in a bothersome way... just kind of keeping us company. Then they ask to have their pictures taken... the camera is a total kid magnet like I've never seen before. If I pull my camera out in any crowded area, kids will flock around, begging to be on camera, then see the picture immediately afterwards to make sure they look good. Their favorite look is very cool, not smiling, slightly serious, I'm-ready-for-Bollywood pose that is hard to resist. But once they're warmed up, its a free-for-all and I can hardly walk away. I took many photos of them, to their delight and mine. The kids (and most people here) are incredibly friendly and outgoing. Most kids know some English and we get by with a few words of Hindi mixed in and some sign language... it's really quite fun. In fact just about everywhere we go, kids are fascinated with us and the fact that we look different. They wave and sometimes just stop and stare, mouths agape, but mostly they walk or even run up to us, ask our names and where we're from and want to shake our hands as if we're royalty. When I say we're from the US the awed response is often in the name of some Hollywood movie star who visited their town in the last few years. The movie star thing is a big deal here. In fact, one of the Khan families in Jodhpur, who spend a lot of time around the Khan house, has four boys, each named after a big Bollywood star: Salman, Sharuk, Amir and Saif Ali.

Chai

This chai stand may look a little suspect, but my host, Imran Khan, assured me that it's one of the oldest and best in Jodhpur. I admired the patina on the tea kettle and put my trust in boiling water. The chai was delicious.

We have chai everywhere, morning, noon and night and several times in between. Unlike the spice saturated, quart-sized grande buckets of chai at Starbucks and the like in the US, chai here is small and simple. Milk boiled with tea, some sugar and maybe a little cardamom or ginger, served in small tea cups or glasses or paper cups or recyclable-on-the-spot earthenware cups, but usually in little flimsy plastic things that look like water cups for chasing pills. Perhaps more Starbucks-like, chai is everywhere. But no one drinks on the go. There are no lids for the cups, no cup holders in rikshaws or taxis. Chai is for sitting and sipping and chatting, pondering and stalling. Being and not doing. And more chai breaks is always better. If there is one Indian tradition that we should adopt in the US, this is it. Take a break... have a chai.

Home in Jaipur

Back in Jaipur we had the wonderful privilege of staying the home of Rafiq, a relation of Peter's teacher, Sultan Khan, and we are treated like royal guests. (It's always good to reciprocate by bringing your personal sarangi player along to perform.) Perhaps its the holiday season or maybe its the way they work here, but one seems to be on any kind of regular work or school schedule so the time for waking, sleeping and eating varies with the flow of the day, usually running on the late side, since concerts and events often run late in the evening. Currently our days seem to be starting at around noon and ending at about 3am, which suits me just fine. I've heard about experiments where the visible cycle of the sun is removed and the body is allowed to free cycle and develop it's own sleep/wake pattern, which tends to be something like 28 or 30 hours, which would mean going to bed later every night. It feels like we do that here for a few days, then take an overnight plane, train or car trip somewhere, sleep in fits, then reset our clocks again. As I said, this would suit me just fine, except for the fact that no matter where we are, some kind of racket always seems to start early in the morning. In Mumbai, its the beeping traffic and banging construction. In Jaipur it was the deafening and ceaseless drumming. A few days later, at the home of Sultan Khan in Jodhpur, it's pretty quiet, but there's a temple nearby that starts blasting a PA system with music and chanting at 7:15 every morning, accompanied by someone banging on a large bell that sounds like a loud railroad crossing about a block away. Apparently, it's the call to morning prayer and it goes like that for exactly 15 minutes, with the bell ramping up to double-time for the last minute, just in case the first 14 minutes didn't sink in.

Eating our way through the day

Mumbai, being fairly cosmopolitan, at least in some parts, has an incredible range of food from the worst American crap like Pizza Hut, to every imaginable type of asian cuisine. Road side stalls are everywhere and serve up many strange and wonderful foods, but all to often prepared in horrific conditions. We eat out most of the time here, since our cooking facilities are rather limited, and stick to the better places, which seem to have a combination of Indian and Thai or Chinese food. Peter also knows of a few really good hole in the wall dives that are great and I try to enjoy them and not to think about the kitchen conditions. Later, during our home-stays in Rajastan (Jaipur and Jodhpur) food is always prepared by the women in the house, usually four or five of whom are crammed into a tiny kitchen. We always thank them and tell them how good the food is, but they often seem a bit surprised that we even acknowledge their presence. But with some of the teenage girls, you can sense a bit of indignation that they're always serving the men. It's definitely a little weird for us. We mostly eat on the bed or floor mat the bedroom, which typically serves as the dining room and living room. For breakfast, we often have eggs, which are good and fresh and can be had sunnyside up, or in flattish omelets, usually with onions and mushrooms. Nothing special, really, but for Peter, who's not as adventurous with the spicier food, its a nice, less spicy way to start the day. And, of course, there always chai. For lunch or dinner, in Rajastan, we usually have a few dishes like biriani, dahl, potatoes in sauce and chick or mutton, served in tin bowls or cups and which is always eaten with chapatis using our fingers. One of the odd things is that we never eat with the whole family, but a number of family members will come in and sit down with us as we eat. In Rajastan, the food gets much hotter as they include peppers in just about everything, especially the biriani (spiced rice usually with chopped meat). Now I like fairly hot food, but what the locals in Rajastan call 'not spicy', seems pretty hot to my pallet and makes Peter balk at the food. Spicy would probably be lethal to Westerners like us.

The Food

OK, enough with all the travelogue and traffic jive, what about the food, for crying out loud? Berkeley-ites (and other foodie friends and family who aren't so fortunate to live in Berkeley) are surely wondering what we're eating here and how it compares to those favorite Indian establishments. Well, unlike the driving etiquette which is just mind-boggling to no end, at least we have some outstanding reference points for Indian food in Berkeley. Vik's, Uduppi Palace, Ajanta, Breads of India and even Tasty Bite are all great examples of India's gastronomic offerings in the West. The diversity and quantity of the food stalls and carts and the character of the home cooking here in India add many more dimensions. Before leaving the states, my wonderful Indian neighbors gave me advice in the form of a list of forbidden foods, hoping to save me from a dreaded bout of traveler's sickness. Somehow, in my frenzied departure, I forgot the list and all I could remember was something like avoid tap water, road side stands and anything else that looks or smells tasty. For the first week or so, I tried my best. Peter didn't help. He's been coming to India for 20 years, and had already been here for 3 weeks, so he was eating and drinking pretty much everything. And thanks to my parents, who had a passion for hunting down these kind of things in Chicago when I was growing up, I have a weakness for cheap but good hole-in-the-wall restaurants, including food stands, stalls and carts of any kind. (Street fairs, especially in Berkeley, are paralyzing for people like me... I can't decide what to eat because it all looks so good.) So, by the second or third day I was going out on a limb, having an ice tea (it was about 90°F, so we're drinking all the time and bottled water gets tiresome) and had the shock of finding a bug in my drink, which reminded me that ice was a no-no, which was followed by a queasy feeling and thought, 'Oh, shit, this is it, I'm going to be sick for the rest of the trip if I'm not careful!' So, I literally tip-toed around town, trying to avoid cravings for fresh fruit drinks, ice cream, and the endless variety of roadside stands that surrounded us everywhere, some looking questionable, but most looking really tasty and filling the air with wonderfully spicy aromas. It was torture and slowly, I caved. It started with the iced tea. Then, a day or two later, it was ice cream. Next it was fresh fruit (at one of the better looking restaurants at least). We made a habit of sticking to decent looking restaurants, some of whom know Peter and what he likes to order. Pretty much everything is eaten with the fingers and roti (various kinds of bread). In Jodhpur, we parked next to this incredible looking cart piled high with chips and chilies and all sorts of delectable looking toppings. I sat in the rikshaw waiting, trying not to look. Then I thought I'd just get out to take some pictures. It doesn't take long before the chip walla asks where I'm from and when he finds out, he says I'm the first Californian to ever stop at his stand. (The rest probably had the good sense to keep going, I'm thinking.) So he offers me a freebee and of course, I can't resist, plus it would be impolite at this point, so he whips up a super special sort of Indian nachos for me and, of course, it's fabulous.

Rules of the Road

As far as I can gather from all the rikshaw rides we've taken, the only clear rule here is don't hit anything or anybody or cows. Beyond that, these appear to be some general guidelines for achieving that. I listed only things that I saw numerous times, to be reasonably sure that these were part of the driving etiquette here and not just random moments of insanity (which will fill another long list):

Drive on the left, when necessary. (The British are responsible for the first half of that statement, the Indians for the second half.)
At intersections, whoever gets there first and beeps has the right of way.
No passing when there is oncoming traffic, unless you beep (and hold the horn).
No driving in the wrong direction on a divided road, unless it's less than a mile or so to a turnaround.
Vehicles in a traffic circle have the right of way, unless you get there first and beep.
Going the wrong way around traffic circles is forbidden unless your turn is only one street over.
No U turns in heavy traffic, unless there's a tiny gap and you beep.
When turning right across really heavy traffic, it's OK to make a U turn and go until you can make another U turn the other way and go back up the shoulder so you don't miss your turn.
No more than 6 passengers in a rikshaw, unless it's a pickup style rikshaw, then all the kids must sit in the back.
The number of kids in the back of a rikshaw is limited to the number that can fit without falling out.
No more than 4 adults on a motorcycle.
The driver of a motorcycle must wear a helmet if he is carrying passengers or if there are police around.
Small children and babies on motorcycles must be carried on a lap of a woman sitting side saddle.
Small children 3 or older can sit on the gas tank of a motorcycle. No more than 2 children on the gas tank.
Headlights are recommended after dark, but not required if the driver thinks he can see or doesn't need to because he knows the way.
No stopping in the middle of the road unless you aren't sure where you're going, then stop and wait and in about 3 seconds someone will stop and help.

Special note to my former vanpool mates: Imagine Jerome driving a rikshaw, then imagine that all drivers drive like Jerome at his most daring, ALL the time. Then add lots of extras on foot, bicycles and motorcycles, a bunch of dogs and a few cows. Put traffic circles at most of the intersections and remove stoplights from the rest, or just ignore them. Now triple the amount of traffic on the road. You get the idea.

The Road to Jodhpur

We've ridden many rikshaws and a few trains, so we needed to experience driving through India next. With the wildly ranging road conditions in Mumbai from smooth cobbles to rutted alleys, construction going on everywhere, and the free-for-all driving style, I was a bit worried that the 5 hour road trip from Jaipur to Jodhpur would be hellish and a bit scary. Sabir wanted to go at night, so we wouldn't have to deal with traffic, but lots of trucks have the same idea, so the roads weren't necessarily empty. We hired a driver, packed into a small but comfortable Toyota SUV, popped a popular Indian film track into the CD player and took off at about 1:30am for Jodhpur. I dozed fitfully, finding many things to see and ponder along the way...

For the first hour or so, the road was surprisingly excellent, a smooth 6 lane divided highway that could easily have fooled me into thinking that we were in any big US city, if it weren't for the driver sitting on the right and road signs in Hindi. Eventually this became a two lane highway, which required us to pass many trucks and I just did my best to have faith in the Indian truck drivers who calmly move over as long as passing drivers lay on the horn and keep flashing brights. When necessary, three abreast isn't a big deal. It's probably best if us Western passengers just keep their eyes closed... or take the train.

Speed bumps (and speed trenches, which are presumably cheaper and easier to make) are used to keep the speed down on highways, for traffic circles or railroad crossings or narrow bridges and I have to say it's kind of odd to be cruising along at 50 or 60mph and suddenly have to slow to 5mph for a gigantic hump that will either launch the car or rip out its undersides if we don't.

The good highways are all tollways and toll booths, like many operations in India, appear to employ as many people as possible (something Americans could certainly learn to do better.) We passed through several during the night. A small handful of people appear around a fire as we approach, just showing the way or counting cars or maybe hanging out until their shift, I'm not sure. At the toll booth one guy sits outside, wrapped in blankets (it's about 50°F), looking chilled and groggy. He's there to make head gestures in case of questions, take our money and hand it to the official toll guy in the booth, about 6 inches away. The toll guy then hands change, receipts and, in one case, some candy to the toll taker guy, who hands it back to us. If anyone pulls up behind, beeping starts and doesn't stop until we move (normal). Then, there's the gate lifter guy, who is also wrapped in blankets, awake now from all the beeping. No problem. He keeps the gate propped up with a stick so that he doesn't have to actually get up and lift it each time, and he just watches and maybe nods as we go by. Several people are crashed out nearby, presumably waiting their shift. On one occasion, we pulled up and the toll taker and toll official were totally zonked out. We beep (of course) and everyone wakes just enough to take our toll.

There are many chai stalls along the road, each with an inviting looking fire going to warm proprietors and guests alike, so we had many chai stops. Some use earthenware cups for chai, which are tossed on the ground and lay crushed all around. It seemed kind of odd and wasteful at first, but later it occurred to me that this is quite the efficient recycling process.

We had one serious moment of excitement during our trip (not counting a few speed bumps that nearly caught us off guard). While stopped at a roadside chai stall, a large truck drove by and blew a tire with such a blast that it shattered our rear window and nearly caused us to jump out of our skin. No one was in the car at the time, but it meant that the back passenger had to move to the middle seat and now we had to sit 4 across, when there was barely room for 3. The last 2 hours of our trip felt like we were crammed into a rikshaw instead of the nice roomy vehicle we started off in, reminding us that this had to be more of an adventure just because it's India.

Ear plugs are a poor defense for loud Indian film music, but it seemed to be keeping the driver awake, so I let it be.

Muharram

Sabir suggested to come to Jaipur for the celebration of Muharram. Take 120 or more crazed marching bands wailing on at least 10 times the usual number of drums (get rid of all the other instruments since they would be drowned out anyway) then have them plow around the city, drumming up a storm as they pass various reviewing stands, along with enormous elaborate floats that look like towering temples made from toothpicks and tinsel and you basically get the feel of this ancient Islamic holiday. The drumming started at about sundown and continued relentlessly, until almost sunrise, when they converged into one massive deafening drum war in a huge field at the edge of town. There's a little morning break of maybe a couple of hours (either that or I must have slept really soundly for a bit) then the drumming starts up again full force and goes on the whole next day! It's one of the biggest events in Jaipur, and Sabir Khan, the aspiring Indian music star son of Sultan Khan (Peter's sarangi teacher), took a 5 hour train trip from Jodhpur to join his drumming friends who have apparently won awards for their elaborate drumming in the past. From what I've been able to piece together from stories the locals tell us (and a glance at Wikipedia for good measure) Muharram is the anniversary of the battle of Karbala, in which the grandson of the prophet Muhammad was killed, about 1300 years ago. It's the beginning of the Islamic year and traditionally, all war stops for several weeks. Traditions vary throughout the Islamic world, but here in Jaipur, it's all about the drumming.

Empire Cycles

Want wheels that are built to last? Come to Empire Cycles, a little shop lost somewhere in the seriously bustling Chor Bazaar, near the famous Crawford Market in old Mumbai. This bazaar has to be experienced to be believed with endless passages of shops, every imaginable good and a relentless stream of people flowing through the narrow alleys. Add hundreds of long hand carts piled perilously high with stuff, but somehow never spilling, being pushed somewhere in a hurry. Any load less than half a pick-up's worth is carried on the head. Then there's a circus like assortment of people on bicycles, scooters and full sized motorcycles beeping incessantly and threading their way through what in any sane market would be a pedestrian-only zone, and a random assortment of trucks of all sizes that somehow manage to squeeze through without hitting anything or running anyone over, forging their way slowly through no matter that people and other vehicles already flood the streets. This has to be one of the more insanely busy places on the planet (right up there with Tokyo's bustling Tsukiji Fish Market in my experience, and I've heard comparisons to the Grand Bazaars of Tehran and Istanbul.) Anyway, Empire Cycles is in the middle of what appears to be a kind of auto row in reverse, with motorized vehicles of all types in every state of active dismantling, usually by someone covered in grease from head to toe, wielding the largest available hammer and perhaps a chisel--no special tools necessary. Stalls in the area specialize in one part or another like shock absorbers or mirrors... you name it. One string of shops specialized in horns, which hung by the hundreds from the overhang, with ongoing demonstrations blasting passersby as if the constant bleating of moving vehicles weren't enough. Anyway, at Empire Cycles they have totally dispensed with spokes in favor of rebar, which they weld to massive hubs and rims and cover with heavy tire treads that need no air. The manufacturing of these wheels is being handled by a half dozen or so workers crammed into the back of a space the size of a one car garage, sending streams of sparks and smoke from a full-tilt cutting, grinding and welding operation that goes on not more than 2 feet away from the front of the shop, where parents hang out with small children, giddy with delight as they check out their first ride, complete with training wheels and streamers coming from the ends of the handlebars. The children's bikes seem to be a side business... it's the bomb-proof wheels hanging from the front of the shop are clearly the hot item here. No more truing. No more broken spokes. These wheels are maintenance free and will last forever, no guarantee necessary. And they're built in a modern radial spoke pattern to boot. Hope you like green.

Snackwalla

Peter and I took an overnight 'A. C. Two Tier' superfast sleeper train for an 18 hour ride north of Mumbai to Jaipur. This is not a high speed train. Superfast means not super slow. Occasionally we pulled over on sidings and let other faster trains go by... I'm not sure what that's all about. For the first couple of hours we traveled through the huge sprawling metropolis of Mumbai where the tracks are lined with mile after mile of corrugated tin and plastic tarp shanty town homes teaming with people living, farming, playing cricket, sleeping or occasionally taking a dump. At crossing gates, huge jams of trucks, busses, rikshaws, motorcycles and bicycles stacked up and waited patiently to get through while people walking milled around the tracks, seemingly oblivious to the train whizzing by. Slowly this gave way to rural farmlands, pastures and countryside, mostly dry and flat, with the size of the crossing jams diminishing as we went, but all still waiting patiently behind the gate, which is far back from the tracks, an odd contrast to the usual free-for-all traffic situation. The endless miles of trash and junk of urban life starts to disappear too, giving way to tidier looking farms and small ornate temples that randomly dot the countryside. Chaiwallas and snackwallas walk through the train and sometimes chant their offerings, sounding a bit like a weird baseball game to my Western ears. We're in what seems to be the first class section of the train, so according to Peter there are fewer wallas coming through and we're missing out on the conviviality of the 3 tier and non-airconditioned trains, which are all packed to the gills. Maybe we'll sleep a little better, but if Peter can stand it one more time (the stories never end), I think I need to take the cheap seats on the way back for the full on India experience.

The Tabla Makers

Today we had a visit with master tabla maker Haridas Vhatkar and his sons and apprentices, who recently moved into this new shop... twice the size of the old place (you're seeing most of the shop in this picture!) Haridas represents the third generation of tabla makers in his family and makes instruments for many great tabla players including Zakir Hussain. Tablas are the rhythm drums commonly heard in Indian classical music. The high pitched tabla drum is made of a hard wood, turned on a lathe and the head is made of goat skin, stretched tight with goat skin straps. Wooden dowels are inserted between the straps and the drum body and a small hammer is used to tap them into place and adjust the head tension to tune the drum to a specific pitch. The deeper pitched baiya drum (which makes, with the tabla, a set of tabla) is made of copper or brass and has a larger more flexible drum head, which allows the player to change the pitch while playing by pressing with the heel of the palm. The black patch in the center of the drum head, known as the gab, is the secret to a good sounding tabla. Each tabla maker has his own special recipe for the black gab paste, and technique for applying it. It's applied in layers with the thumbs, then polished smoothed with a black granite rock and checked for intonation after each layer. Peter brought a drum that needed repair, so we chatted and watched them perform their magic for a while then took a chai break and discussed the repair. Haridas delighted in hearing a recording of Peter playing one of his instruments.

Balloon Girl

Moments earlier, this girl was wandering through a typically horrendous Mumbai traffic jam, selling balloons.

Mani

Mani, the night guard at our apartment, is always happy to chat with us when we return and give Peter his last Hindi workout for the day.

Sandlot Cricket

The game had everyone's attention until I was spotted with my camera.

Family Ride

A typical family of four gets around Mumbai efficiently and quickly.

Bonsuri Class

Peter travels to India almost every winter now to study music (tabla and sarangi) and get a good dose of chaos to wake him from the cold quiet of northern Germany where he lives most of the rest of the year, so I've vicariously traveled parts of India through Peter's many stories, but never experienced it first hand until now. Years ago, Peter brought me some tablas from India so I was compelled to study in Berkeley for a few years, with Peter's guru Zakir Hussain and learn the wonderful rhythms of Indian music. Yesterday, we sat in on a class with bonsuri guru Hariprasad Chaurasia for a blissful morning of flute music, taught via call and response, like a parent teaches a child, with each phrase increasing in difficulty over a period of a couple of hours, until only a few of the best students could reply.

Out and About Mumbai

Auto rikshaws seem to be the most popular transport in Mumbai and they permeate the roads, flowing like blood cells through arteries and capillaries, filling every available gap, weaving through people, dogs, motorcycles, bicyclists around hundreds of other rikshaws, dodging the endless potholes, construction and road hazards, narrowly missing everything by fractions of an inch including oncoming traffic. Everyone beeps constantly but no one gets out of the way. The occasional traffic light merely serves as a suggestion as intersections invite a non-stop game of chicken, the drivers all pushing to be first, driving around anything and everything in front of them, slowing only if a collision is truly imminent. The only apparent rule is don't hit anything and it's astonishing that no one collides. Amazingly, the drivers are completely relaxed, sitting half cross-legged, not flinching for a moment, rarely noticing close brushes. Major intersections invite gridlock of monumental proportions, freezing hundreds of rikshaws as peds, bikes and motos squeeze through the remaining spaces. Beggars wander about looking for hapless foreigners and stand there pleading, and looking pathetic, our uncomfortable interaction providing brief entertainment for the rikshaw drivers. Yelling and more beeping ensue and eventually we're off again, like there's a race to be won and I hang on. Peter has grown used to it and sits casually, as if in a cafe having his tea as we cruise, weave and bump along. He usually knows where we're going and yells at the driver in a mix of Hindi and English to turn or stop, typically having to repeat himself several times until the driver finally understands and reacts. If we blow by our turn (regularly), the driver just flips a U turn in full traffic or hangs a quick turn down the next narrow vendor lined alley, dodging old men and dogs wandering across the road as if the traffic doesn't exist. Small children stand in the middle traffic, holding the hands of even smaller children as rikshaws and other vehicles flow around them while they wait for a gap. Peter knows good places to eat and have chai, so we sit and relax between frenzied trips and watch and listen to Mumbai buzz around us. Despite the chaos and intensity of it all, I'm struck by the strong sense of give and take and how little hostility I see. Infractions that would cause westerners to scream obscenities and foam at the mouth happen every few moments and barely elicit a head waggle from Indian drivers, who are usually more interested in where we're from or impressed with Peter's Hindi.

Sounds of Mumbai

For the past 6 months, I've been in a filmmaking program at BDFI, during which I've produced 2 short films and have a 3rd in production. I also got to work on numerous others to learn the various crafts of writing, casting, shooting, directing and editing. It's an amazing process and I've become very aware of how difficult it is to take an idea for a film through production and get something resembling your idea out the other end. One of the more intriguing aspects of filmmaking is sound design. The production sound that gets recorded during shooting typically only includes the dialog, so a lot of work has to be done in post production to add sound effects, music and create atmosphere. This sound design really ends up being the glue that holds a film together, providing depth and continuity. We've learned to listen and think about the sounds that will give life and help tell the story. New Years Day, I woke and lay listening for 15 or 20 minutes to the dense layers of sound. It starts with the sound of an aviary, with dozens of species of birds. People are talking, sometimes yelling, sometimes singing. A few TVs are going. Some dogs are barking. The motors and buzzing horns of rickshaws and motorcycles add another layer. Then there's the pounding, heavy pile driver like pounding that occasionally drowns out the usual hammering and beating. Sometimes it's rhythmic like drums... and it might be, but usually it just seems like constant construction, which it probably is. I'll record some and post it when I get a faster Internet connection. Peter said, 'What noise? This is the quiet part of Mumbai.'